Reaching Home
by Drummers
Summary: A forest. Snow. Cold. Hope on the horizon? (OneShot)


Early January, 1978  
  
Snow, snow, trees, trees, trees, a fallen branch, stubling, falling...  
  
Due to his speed, the young man hadn't seen the large fallen branch on the ground, at least, not until it was too late, and he stumbled over it. He fell face first into the untouched snow. It was tempting to keep lying there, even though he was only wearing thin, torn robes.  
  
He turned his head to the side, breathing heavily, his breath freezing up on the snow. There was snow everywhere, in his hair, his nose... It was soaking his robes and he knew he had to stand up to go on, it would be terrible if they found him there.  
  
So he dragged himself up, using the fallen branch, over which he had just stumbled, for support. He tried to shake the snow off his robes and from his hair as much as possible, but it was no use. It clung to him as if someone had mixed it with glue.  
  
Somewhere in the forest behind him, a bird took flight, making squawking noises. He snapped his head around, nearly cricking his neck. Someone had to be there! Nothing disturbed the birds, except for something the animals weren't used to... With a scared glint in his, which bordered madness, he started to run for his life again, faster, faster, as if he was being chased by the Devil...  
  
The high and mighty trees around him started to become less close together. The light grew more intense, and he knew he had to be reaching the rim of the forest.  
  
Just before he could reach the edge, his right foot skimmed another sharp branch on the forest floor, and he let out a sharp cry of pain, as the sole of his bare foot was torn open.  
  
Blood gushed out on the snow, which lay otherwise white and deafening silent on the ground. He tried to take one step further, but his other leg, of which the ankle had been sprained in a previous fall, wouldn't support him anymore, either. He tumbled down into the snow again.  
  
He crawled his way to the edge, cutting his hands on some of the sharp rocks that stuck out of the soft snow. It was as if the forest just didn't want to let him go.  
  
Finally, bleeding from top to toe and shivering from the intense cold, he reached the edge and dragged himself into the early rays of sunlight.  
  
And still, he knew he couldn't stay there; some animal from the forest might still get him, or worse even, one of his former allies. He crawled further, with all the strength he could still muster.  
  
He needn't go too far. In front of him, only a little to his right, stood a small wooden house. He dragged himself up to its front door, his legs in the snow, leaving a deep trace. With a last effort, he knocked on the bare wooden door.  
  
Then, the black on the edges of his mind caught up with him, wrapped him up in darkness, took him away... and he fell unconscious.  
  
Next thing he knew, something large, warm and hairy had picked him up, and started to move him.  
  
"Dudde...door... Dudde...door..." he managed to mutter.  
  
"Now, better be quiet, you," the hairy figure said from somewhere above him. "I'm takin' yeh straight ter the Headmaster."  
  
That was all he needed to know. The thought of being under the Headmaster's care was such a reassurance that he slumped back into unconsciousness. He could finally rest. They wouldn't come for him, not under the Headmaster's nose.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, he had some difficulty focussing. Where was he? How did he get there? He moaned softly to see if someone would react.  
  
A figure moved into his sight, dressed in dark blue robes and a large, white cap. Madam Pomfrey. Slowly, his mind deduced that he must be in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey tried to give him something to drink which nearly burned a hole in his tongue, and coughing severely, he sat up in his bright white hospital bed.  
  
"The patient is ready to see you, Albus," said Madam Pomfrey, and only then he noticed the old Headmaster on the other side of his bed, in a small distance. At the nurse's words, though, he approached.  
  
The Headmaster wore pine green robes with decorations in goldthread on the edges of his long sleeves. His beard was long and white, and seemed to shine a little in the light that filtered through the window over the bed. The sparkling, intense, blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles looked worried.  
  
"Severus," he said, extending a hand. "Welcome home." 


End file.
